Story
Tell this slowly, letting the feather travel as the story unfolds:
Once there was a little breeze who woke up on a mountaintop.
The little breeze stretched and said, I have work to do today.
It slid down the mountain and found a field of dandelions. It lifted their seeds like tiny umbrellas and carried them to new gardens. Fly well, little seeds, said the breeze.
It found a bird who was tired of flapping. It slipped under her wings and held her up, so she could glide and rest at the same time.
It found a kitchen window and carried the smell of warm bread to a child playing outside. Time to come in, the smell seemed to say.
It found laundry on the line and filled the shirts like sails until they danced.
It found a child standing very still. The breeze circled once, twice, and kissed the child's cheek. The child could not see the breeze. But the child laughed and said, I know you are there.
At the end of the day, the little breeze grew quiet. It lay down over the meadow, soft as a blanket, and the whole world breathed slowly, in and out, in and out, until morning.
Air carries. Air lifts. Air breathes. Air is always with us.